Page 10 of Fallen Angel

“Insightful comment today. You are…”

She was so close to an unnoticed escape. “Hannah Fenwick,” she said, letting other students pass her by.

“I’m sure you have an interesting paper topic in mind, Ms. Fenwick.” Professor Cruz waited, and Hannah paused.

“Uh, possibly,” she said.

“Well, go on. Don’t be shy. Hit me with it.” Professor Cruz’s eyes widened with enthusiasm.

Hannah offered a feeble smile as she searched her mind for a topic—one that didn’t involve a belief in magic or the supernatural. When she came up empty, however, she sighed and delivered the idea she had originally intended to present. “Um, I was thinking of tackling something like the personification of magic throughout history and in different cultures, but…”

Professor Cruz cut Hannah off. “Interesting. May need to be more focused, but please, continue.”

“I found an old manuscript in the library yesterday that suggests a belief that magic, in itself, has elements of consciousness—that magic as an entity behaves like a human does. It can be rewarding, forgiving, punishing…” Even though Hannah wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue with this topic, she found herself intrigued as she pitched it.

“And where does this manuscript come from? Where is this believed?” Prof. Cruz leaned an arm against the podium.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t look?”

“It didn’t say.” Hannah tried to read Professor Cruz’s expression, but it didn’t sway one way or the other. “I might choose a different topic. I’m not sure if…”

“I like it,” Professor Cruz interjected. “Both your topic and your initiative. Not many freshmen would have already visited our library.”

Hannah wished she hadn’t.

“For a comprehensive research paper, you’ll need to find additional sources that support your claim. More proof. And don’t forget a thesis—some sort of analysis you can derive from your findings. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Hannah’s stomach hardened. “I will. Thank you, Professor.” She turned to leave the lecture hall and tapped her fingers.

Hannah was going back to the library.

Chapter Three

Back in the library, Hannah staggered into the Occult and Mysticism room. She paused in the doorway, waiting to see if she heard a voice.

“Hello?” she asked. When she didn’t hear a response, she felt silly for thinking that the books might talk back. She sighed in relief and hoped that she didn’t hear any voices today…or any other day.

Her books were exactly where she left them. Her next class wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so she settled into the cramped and musty room. She returned to the fragile manuscript and skimmed her fingers over the old penmanship. The paper felt crimped and excited the nerves in her fingertips. She picked up from where she left off and continued reading through passages—those she could make out, at least. Whenever something related to magic being an independent source with its own behavior, desire, or will, she made a note of it in her journal.

She came across a section that scrawled about light and dark magic. Light magic was described as good, and dark was described as stereotypically evil—both equal in power.While most magic is believed to be neutral or indifferent, there is some magic that prefers a certain extreme. That magic searches for those who are most susceptible to channeling either light or dark and settles within them, creating magical prodigies. These are witches who have been granted great power in the name of either light or darkness.

She scribbled this entry as fast as her hand would allow into her notebook. Whatever culture or religion this author described, it believed that magic lived within certain people—witches. And just as some humans are born with incredible talents for certain subjects—mathematical geniuses or musical prodigies—certain witches were also capable of exceptional power.

Hannah turned the page and paused on the last sentence written in the chapter:I believe magic has chosen me as a prodigy for light.

This was the first time the manuscript wrote in the first person. Hannah’s suspicions were right. This was a personal document—a journal or diary, perhaps. She realized how valuable and rare it was to come across a primary source, this old, of any kind.

H-a-n-n-a-h…

Hannah launched herself out of her chair. Her wild curls blocked her vision. She tore them out of her line of sight, but didn’t see anyone. Immediately, she slapped her notebook shut and shoved it into her bag. Abandoning the open manuscript on the table, she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and moved to the door. She’d either tell Professor Cruz that she would choose a different topic or simply default to the internet. There was no way she’d come back here.

H-a-n-n-a-h…

She tripped on the rug, and the contents of her bag scattered across the floor. Her pen rolled and rolled to the back of the room.

A breeze blew through Hannah’s hair and whirled through the thin pages of the open manuscript on the table. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin. She froze. The impossible breeze from inside the windowless room crept behind her neck and over her shoulders. She had a difficult time believing that this wasn’t real. She couldn’t possibly be imagining this.

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